


Settling In

by Arbryna



Series: Baby Steps [2]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Babies, F/F, Family, Fluff, Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-08
Updated: 2012-07-08
Packaged: 2017-11-09 11:17:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/454845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arbryna/pseuds/Arbryna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Isabela has decided to stick around and give this whole "family" thing a shot. Now comes the really hard part: facing Hawke's friends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Settling In

**Author's Note:**

> This was...a definite challenge to write. Both because of all of the characters involved, and because they were all involved at the same time. Hopefully I pulled it off, but if anything strikes you as not quite right, either with the characterization or just with my writing in general, I'd love to hear it--I'm always open to constructive criticism.

“I’m so glad you came back, Isabela.” 

Merrill was practically bouncing on the bare soles of her feet as they walked, excitement radiating from her wiry frame. The thin arm Isabela held onto was as much to keep up with the elf as it was a show of friendly affection. 

“Not that I didn’t think you would,” Merrill said quickly, “but I did miss you terribly while you were gone.”

“Of course you did,” Isabela said, her casual grin concealing the flash of guilt that stabbed at her chest; Hawke wasn’t the only one she’d left behind. “No one tells naughty stories like I do.”

“Oh, of course I did miss that as well. No one else seems to think I’d understand them,” Merrill said with a small frown. When she turned her gaze back to Isabela, though, her green eyes glittered with fond sincerity. “But I mostly just missed talking to you. I don’t have all that many friends, really. There’s Varric, I suppose, but he’s more of a protective older brother than anything else.” She giggled. “Oh, wouldn’t that be funny—an elf with a dwarf for a brother!” 

“That would be something,” Isabela said, chuckling softly. She tugged Merrill toward her, shifting her arm so that it slung over the elf’s shoulders. “What about Hawke?”

With a rueful smile, Merrill leaned into Isabela’s body as they walked. “She’s wonderful, but she worries like everyone else. She won’t let Bethany come to my house, not with the Eluvian there.” She frowned, looking down at her fidgeting hands. “I don’t think she trusts me to know what I’m doing. I’d never let the little darling get hurt.” 

Isabela gave Merrill’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. “I don’t think that’s about trusting you, Kitten,” she said. “Hawke’s just very protective of her family.”

“Yes, I suppose she is—oh!” Merrill gasped, clapping her hands together in front of her. “but she’s your family too!” Any trace of a frown fell from her face, overtaken by an exuberant grin. She reached up to grab Isabela’s hand where it was draped over her shoulder, squeezing it in delight. “Isn’t it exciting?”

“Yes, exciting,” Isabela replied with a weak smile. _Not terrifying in the least._ It had been two weeks since she’d made that fateful decision, and although she’d spent nearly the entire time at the estate, getting to know the tiny person she’d unwittingly helped create, she was no closer to being sure that it was the _right_ decision.

“When you asked me to make that potion for you, I had no idea that such a wonderful little miracle would happen!” Merrill sighed dreamily, oblivious to Isabela’s unease. “She’s got so much of you in her, too.”

“So I’ve been told.” Isabela had yet to see solid proof of these alleged similarities. The child was far too young to drink or duel, and aside from sex, that was all Isabela ever did. Bethany was sweet, and genuine, and innocent, and all sorts of other words that Isabela would never use to describe herself. 

Perhaps she just needed to spend yet more time with the girl to see it. That was an unsettling thought all on its own—that she was thinking about the future at all, not to mention planning it around something other than herself and her own needs. She had always been selfish, and unapologetically so; it felt strange to suddenly be putting someone else first—two someones, really. 

“I think you’ll be a wonderful mother, Isabela,” Merrill said, resting her head on the pirate’s shoulder. “You’re so kind and smart, and there’s so much you can teach her.” 

“I…thank you,” Isabela said feebly as they came to a stop in front of Hawke’s door. This wasn’t the time to argue, and Merrill likely wouldn’t be convinced to change her mind anyhow. “I hope you’re right.”

First Hawke, now Merrill. Even Varric hadn’t railed at her for leaving, though he’d made it clear what would happen if she tried it again. She was faced with all this forgiveness at every turn, and she didn’t have the faintest idea what to do with it. She wanted to laugh at them all, tell them what fools they were for ever trusting her in the first place, for thinking there was anything worth knowing about her beyond her skills in the bedroom or with a blade. 

Not that it would do any good. Somehow they’d gotten it into their heads that not only was Isabela not a bad person, but that she wouldn’t be completely useless as a parent either. Were they all really that blind?

It was almost a relief when the door opened to reveal Aveline, no less imposing in a simple light tunic and trousers than she was in her full guard captain’s armor. When she recognized Isabela, her icy glare could have frozen Andraste’s tits off, pyre be damned.

“Aveline! How lovely to see you,” Merrill said nervously. Even focused entirely on Isabela, the intensity of Aveline’s ire was enough to turn the elf into a babbling mess. “Is Donnic with you?” She peered past the guard captain, who stepped aside far enough for them to slip through the doorway into the foyer. “Oh, look! Varric and Fenris are here already. I think I’ll just join them.”

Isabela chuckled as she watched Merrill scurry into the front hall. Varric was lounging casually against one corner of the couch, with Bianca resting carefully on the side table, easily within reach. Fenris was seated at the other end of the couch, the spikier bits of his armor conspicuously absent. He had one hand supporting the bubbly toddler seated comfortably in his lap, while the other held a thin, worn book. Hawke had said that Fenris was practicing his reading with Bethany, but Isabela hadn’t quite believed it. 

“Is it all right if I listen?” Merrill asked, twining her hands anxiously in front of her.

“If you must,” Fenris grunted, sparing her a brief dismissive glance before turning back to the book in his hand. Merrill smiled, dropping down to sit cross-legged on the carpet.

It was hardly the vicious rebuke Isabela would have expected from the man who, to her memory, could hardly go five minutes without railing against the evils of magic and those who used it. She was about to stride in and tease him about going soft when a hand clamped around her bicep.

“Not so fast, whore.” Aveline’s voice was low, just barely loud enough for Isabela to hear, but somehow that only emphasized the deadly threat in her tone.

Isabela tried to pull her arm out of the other woman’s iron grip, but if there was one thing she could say for Lady Manhands, it was that she was damn strong. She settled for cocking a hip, propping her free hand on it and raising her eyebrows expectantly. The facade of insolent exasperation came easily to her, and was far less terrifying than letting on how nervous she actually was.

“I’ve spoken to Hawke,” Aveline said through her teeth. “She made me promise not to give you the beating you deserve.” Her fingers dug harder into Isabela’s flesh. “But if you step one toe out of line, I swear you’ll wish your Castillon had found you instead.”

“Easy, Big Girl,” Isabela said, her rakish grin failing to distract from the shudder that raced down her spine. She tried once again to pull her arm away; Aveline allowed it this time, but not without a deliberate tilt of her head, a warning flashing in green eyes. Isabela shook her arm a bit, rubbed at it with her other hand. There would be bruises later, she was sure. “I’m turning over a new leaf. I haven’t even gotten drunk in over a week,” she pointed out defensively. She thought for a moment, furrowed her brow. “Well, not very drunk.” 

Aveline didn’t bother responding to that with words; the thin press of her lips spoke volumes on its own. Of all the things Isabela had dreaded about this silly dinner party idea, facing Aveline for the first time since her return had pretty well topped the list. Most of Hawke’s friends had kept their distance for the past two weeks—Hawke’s doing, Isabela was convinced. Truth be told, she was grateful; she had needed that time to get used to being back, and get more comfortable with the abrupt changes taking place in her life. Still, it had to end some time, Hawke had reasoned, and they may as well get the reunions out of the way all at once.

That familiar heavy feeling clenched in Isabela’s chest as she sighed and looked down at her feet, her shoulders sagging as she rubbed idly at her arm. “The last thing I want to do is hurt them, Aveline.” The stark sincerity of her words clearly took Aveline by surprise as much as the use of her given name; Isabela could see it in the woman’s expression, when she dared to glance up. “Either of them.” 

“Good.” To Isabela’s shock and relief, Aveline actually cracked a small smile. They had almost been friends once, Isabela remembered. She had figured that for a lost cause now, after everything she’d done. “I’m glad you’re back,” Aveline continued, grudging affection creeping into her tone. “It is your mess, after all.” 

Isabela lifted an eyebrow, smiling suggestively. “I had help, you know.” 

Aveline groaned, pressing one palm to her forehead and holding the other out in front of her. “No, stop. I already know far more about that than I care to.”

“Bela made a mess?” 

Wide amber eyes peered up at the pair of them from the doorway. Isabela glanced past the toddler, narrowing her eyes as she took in the attentive looks she was getting from Bethany’s would-be minders. They clearly hadn’t lifted a finger to stop the child from interrupting. 

She couldn’t fault Bethany, though; not when the girl looked up at her with that adorable too-serious look at the thought of the pirate she so admired being in trouble. A smile touched Isabela’s lips as she focused on the child, ignoring the weight of four sets of eyes on her, all waiting to see what she would do. 

“It’s nothing to worry your pretty little head over,” Isabela said, crouching before the girl and tousling her hair. 

Bethany giggled and scrunched her nose, batting Isabela’s hand away. Isabela had never been the type of woman to go to mush over the sight of a babe, but there was something about this child in particular that never failed to tug at her. Of course, given Bethany’s parentage, she was an exceptionally attractive child—that was probably it. 

Isabela gathered Bethany in her arms before rising back up to her feet. She glanced toward Aveline, whose expression had softened a great deal; the girl was apparently a rather effective shield against the guard-captain’s wrath. 

“Mama doesn’t like when I make a mess,” Bethany said. “Or Sandal. He makes a mess a lot. More than me.”

“Does he now?” Isabela smiled wider as a shaky warmth blossomed in her chest. For all of the doubts running rampant in her mind, for every moment where she was convinced she had no business attempting this whole family thing, there was a moment like this, when she felt the solid weight of the child in her arms, saw the adoration in those familiar honey-brown eyes, and knew that it was worth trying. 

Bethany nodded. “Uh huh. He makes things go boom.”

“Well,” Isabela said as she began to walk in to join the rest, “that sounds like something your mother needs to talk to him about.” 

“Yeah,” Bethany agreed with a giggle. “He should get a time out!” 

Isabela laughed. She was about to respond when she heard a door opening, and footsteps coming down the corridor that led to the basement. Hawke’s voice soon joined in.

“You’ve really got to tell me how you get her to stop glaring.”

A rich laugh, low and decidedly male, rang out as the footsteps grew louder. “I don’t think Aveline would approve of me spilling her secrets.” It had to be Donnic; Isabela vaguely recognized the strong, kind voice. 

“It probably wouldn’t work for me anyway,” Hawke said ruefully as she and Donnic stepped into the front hall. “I imagine it’s one of those special husbandly things—” She froze mid-step as her eyes fell on Isabela and Bethany, a wide smile growing on her face. “Isabela.”

It was stupid, really, how Isabela’s stomach did that irritating fluttering thing every time Hawke looked at her like that. She thought she’d be used to it by now, the way her pulse jumped when their eyes met. Without looking away, Hawke handed off the bottles of wine in her hands to Donnic, and with every step she took to close the distance between them, it got a little more difficult for Isabela to breathe. It was thrilling and terrifying all at once. 

Hawke’s smile turned oddly shy when she reached Isabela’s side, and she shifted nervously on her feet as though they’d never greeted one another before. They had somehow fallen into a pattern in the past weeks: Bethany would ever be the first to run to the door, but Hawke would be close behind, always leaning in for a lingering kiss as though reassuring herself that Isabela was really there. As routines went, it wasn’t the worst thing Isabela could think of. 

It didn’t take long to realize what Hawke’s problem was: they didn’t usually have such an attentive audience. She didn’t have to look at anyone else to know that every eye in the room was fixed on their interaction. Hawke was holding back for _her_ benefit.

Well, sod that. She’d be damned if she let anyone’s opinions dictate her own behavior. Isabela rolled her eyes, reaching for Hawke with her free hand and pulling her close. She promptly swallowed the surprised moan that escaped Hawke’s lips, kissing the woman with a languid sensuality that she hoped managed to get every one of their spectators—well, save for the littlest one—all hot and bothered. 

She did, after all, have a reputation to maintain. 

A strangled sound of disapproval shattered the moment; Isabela reluctantly pulled out of the kiss, raising an expectant eyebrow at Aveline, who was giving her a contemptuous look.

“I shouldn’t be surprised,” Aveline said. “What would a—” she stopped, eyed Bethany nervously, “—someone like you know about appropriate behavior?” 

Isabela smirked, following Aveline’s gaze to the child still resting comfortably on her hip. Bethany wasn’t bothered in the least; she was engrossed in playing with the ornate necklace that covered Isabela’s throat, watching the light play over the gold coins as she tilted them back and forth.

“I’m sorry, Big Girl,” Isabela cooed, not sorry at all. “Did we make you uncomfortable?”

“You know that’s not what I meant,” Aveline replied, eyes narrowing in a withering glare.

“Jealous, then? Not getting enough attention from Donnic?” She clicked her tongue in mock sympathy. “Is the bloom off the rose?” 

Hawke’s hand slipped into the crook of Isabela’s elbow, tugging gently. “Isabela…” 

“Trust me,” Donnic interjected, setting the wine bottles down on a side table before sidling up next to his wife. He slipped an arm around her waist, a mischievous smile on his lips. He ignored the warning glare Aveline shot him. “Everything’s fine in that department.”

A blush rose high on Aveline’s cheeks, but she turned back to Isabela with a look of smug defiance.

Clearly Isabela was going to have to work harder to get under the big girl’s skin. “Or is there another reason?” she asked, glancing pointedly at Bethany. “It must burn you up inside that _someone like me_ managed something so normal—”

Aveline scoffed. “I’d hardly call it _normal_ —”

“And here you are, on your second husband, and still no little Avelines in sight.” 

“So help me, whore—”

“So, who’s hungry?” Hawke said brightly, stepping between the two before Isabela could respond. She glanced sharply at Aveline, pointedly dragging her gaze to the child on Isabela’s hip; Bethany had given up on the necklace and was looking at Isabela quizzically.

Aveline glared at Isabela, more in embarrassment than genuine ire—she’d always hated letting Isabela get a rise out of her. Isabela just smirked back, savoring her victory. She had to admit, she’d missed their banter; she hadn’t realized until now just how much.

“Aveline, why don’t you and Donnic take Bethany to the dining room?” Hawke said, lifting the child from Isabela’s arms to pass her over. “We’ll be right behind you.” 

The other guests filed out behind them, leaving Isabela alone with Hawke. Isabela made to follow them, but Hawke stepped in front of her with a stern look on her face.

“Don’t look so smug,” Hawke chided. “You’re just as much to blame for that as she is.” 

Isabela had learned a thing or two from Bethany, and donned a somewhat chastened expression. When Hawke turned to lead her out of the room, however, the smirk slid back into place. It had totally been worth it.

***

To her credit, Isabela was on her best behavior over dinner. Well, mostly. Of course, for Isabela, that meant shooting smug looks at Aveline, casually groping Hawke under the table, and taking every opportunity to make ribald comments, but she was careful to keep everything that Bethany could see or hear appropriate, at least on the surface. 

Fenris and Varric chatted amiably with Donnic about their most recent card game; that had apparently become a thing, regular card nights with the boys. Isabela wondered—out loud, of course—how Aveline was handling being “the little woman”, banished to the kitchen while her husband did man things with his buddies. 

“Do you bring them snacks and serve them ale? Do you wear a little lace apron when you do it? Oh, please say you do.”

Aveline just glared, lips pressed tightly together and cheeks flushing red with the effort not to respond. Isabela thought she heard a low growl, but it could have been her imagination.

Merrill neglected her food in favor of making silly faces at Bethany, who giggled in delight while managing to turn even this simple meal of roasted meat and vegetables into a gooey mess that mercifully stayed mostly on her plate, although she got plenty on her face and hands in the process. Hawke alternated between smiling fondly at the pair of them and talking with Aveline about the latest news from her patrols, all while expertly keeping Isabela’s hand out of her skirt. 

It was all so sodding domestic; it made Isabela itch.

Toward the end of the meal, Bethany fixed her amber gaze on Isabela, cocking her head in confusion. 

“What is it, pet?” Isabela asked, raising her glass to her lips. 

“Why did Auntie Av’line call you a horse?” 

Isabela nearly snorted wine out through her nose; she resolved to be more careful drinking around the child. Around the table, there was a scattering of chuckles and snickers. Merrill looked vaguely confused. Aveline’s face flushed bright red. Hawke just slapped her hand over her eyes, shaking her head softly. 

“You know, I’m not sure,” Isabela answered with some difficulty, lifting an eyebrow at the woman in question. “Perhaps Aveline could enlighten us.” 

Aveline swallowed her mouthful of food, washing it down with a hearty gulp of wine. She met the challenge in Isabela's eyes with a defiant smirk. “Well, she has been ridden by nearly everyone in Thedas.” 

Hawke’s hand dropped away from her face, and she stared open-mouthed and wide-eyed at Aveline. 

“I want a ride!” Bethany said with a grin, clapping her hands together and sending bits of mashed carrot flying. 

Isabela was happy to see that Aveline at least had the sense to look guilty. “I think Varric would be better suited to that, sweetness,” she said, shooting a lewd smile at the dwarf in question. “He’s got all that chest hair to grab onto.”

Varric chuckled. “Don’t go teaching her bad habits, Rivaini.”

“It’s Isabela,” Aveline pointed out, wiping her mouth with her napkin and setting it down on her plate. “Does she know any other kind?”

“Sweet Maker,” Hawke groaned. “Alright, that’s enough out of you two.” She turned to Merrill. “Merrill, would you mind taking Bethany upstairs for her bath?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t mind at all,” Merrill said brightly. “It’ll be fun, won’t it da’len?” 

Bethany grinned, holding out her arms. “Sea monster!”

Merrill scooped the child up, smiling indulgently. “Yes, Kirkwall is under attack by the fearsome beast once more. Only you can save them!”

“Do try to keep some of the water in the tub,” Hawke called after them, grimacing as she watched them go. Then she turned, pinning Isabela with a stern look. “As for you…”

“Ooh, are you going to punish me?” Isabela teased. She leaned closer, sliding her fingers slowly up Hawke’s thigh under the skirt. Her voice lowered to a sultry rumble, but she kept it just loud enough for the other guests to hear. “Do I get a spanking?” She glanced sidelong at Aveline, giving the big girl a wicked smirk. “What about Aveline, does she get one too?” 

Hawke rolled her eyes, shoving Isabela’s hand back down. “ _You_ are going to help me clear these dishes,” she said before turning to address the other end of the table. “The rest of you can relax in the front hall. There’s more wine in the cellar if you want it. We’ll be in shortly.”

That earned Hawke a round of knowing glances, which Isabela noted with smug delight. Sometimes she didn’t even have to do anything; her mere presence was enough to send everyone’s minds straight to the gutter. It was a gift.

“ _Very_ shortly,” Hawke insisted with a groan. “Once we finish clearing the table. Which is all that’s going to happen.”

Nobody looked convinced; but then, to be fair, Isabela had no intention of behaving. As everyone filed out of the room, Hawke slapped her hand over her eyes, shaking her head with a hint of an exasperated smile curving her lips.

It was an opportunity Isabela would never forgive herself for wasting; in seconds, she’d shifted from her chair to straddle Hawke in her own.

“If you wanted to get me alone, all you had to do was ask,” Isabela purred, snaking her fingers into Hawke’s perpetually messy black hair. 

Hawke’s hands closed around Isabela’s wrists, gently but firmly pushing them away. When Isabela got done rolling her eyes, her gaze settled on Hawke’s sharply arched eyebrow, on the disbelieving purse of Hawke’s lips. “You think I should reward you for corrupting our daughter?” 

Isabela tensed, momentarily ceasing her struggle to free her hands. _Our daughter_. Such simple words, and it wasn’t as if they weren’t true, but she didn’t know if she’d ever really be comfortable with hearing them. It was an easy thing to see how Bethany came from Hawke, and only slightly harder for Isabela to accept that maybe she’d had a hand in it as well, but somehow none of that added up to the child being _hers_. 

Shrugging off the confusing jumble of thoughts, Isabela returned to simpler things; like seducing Hawke. “Oh, come now, you’re not really mad about that, are you?” She ground her hips downward and Hawke stifled a gasp, grip loosening just enough for Isabela to pull her wrists free. The fingers of one hand tangled in Hawke’s hair once more, tugging her head to the side. “She doesn’t even know she heard anything bad,” she continued, nibbling a path up Hawke’s neck to her ear. “And I’ve been called far worse things than a horse.” 

Isabela smirked as Hawke’s hands fell limply to her waist, trembling and hot. Hawke’s breath puffed unsteadily against the skin of Isabela’s chest—and Isabela had barely even begun. 

“Just—” Hawke half-groaned as Isabela’s teeth closed over the sensitive skin just under her ear. “—don’t let her hear you call Aveline a prig,” she said, fingertips pressing into Isabela’s hips. “We can’t have her thinking her entire family is made up of farm animals.”

With a grin, Isabela flicked out her tongue, teasing along the edge of Hawke’s ear. “I’ll do my very best.” She reached between them with her free hand to work Hawke’s skirt up her thighs.

Hawke must have had some hidden reserve of fortitude, because she managed to stop Isabela’s hand before it reached its destination. The heat in her eyes was tempered by a touch of anxiety. “What if someone comes in?”

“Where did your sense of adventure go?” Isabela teased, wresting her hand from Hawke’s weak grip. “Besides, every one of them knows exactly what they’d be walking in on, I promise you that.” Her fingers found the edge of Hawke’s smallclothes, and she savored Hawke’s gasp and shudder as she dragged her fingertips along it. “Well, except maybe Merrill. But she’ll be busy with Bethany for a while yet.”

Once again, Hawke’s hand closed around Isabela’s wrist, but this time, instead of pushing away, she pulled Isabela’s hand more firmly against her. “All right, Bela,” she said, her breath hot on Isabela’s lips, “you win. Now stop talking.” 

***

By the time Hawke managed to drag Isabela out of the dining room, the rest of her guests had settled in comfortably in the front hall. Merrill had brought Bethany back down, freshly scrubbed and dressed in her nightgown, and they were playing together on the carpet in front of the fireplace. The others were watching idly as they chatted with wine goblets in hand, Donnic and Aveline on the far end of the couch, Varric on the other, while Fenris leaned stiffly against the writing desk with his arms crossed over his chest. 

As Isabela sauntered into the room after a stumbling Hawke, everyone’s attention shifted to the pair of them. Varying degrees of amusement adorned most of their faces; Merrill just smiled brightly at them in greeting, as did Bethany (albeit more toothily), while Aveline had on her best judgmental face, all raised eyebrows and pursed lips. 

The flush on Hawke’s cheeks deepened under the scrutiny. She glanced behind her, but Isabela offered only a smug smile in response. When Aveline cleared her throat, opening her mouth to speak, Hawke shot her a look and hurried over to her. Aveline stood and let Hawke drag her to the far edge of the room to talk in quiet.

Left alone, Isabela surveyed the rest of the room for options, finally shrugging and heading over to Fenris. He was the only one left on her little list of awkward reunion conversations, anyhow. As she hopped up onto the desk next to him, she followed his flinty glare to where Merrill and Bethany had resumed their earlier activity.

A small wooden hawk lay off to the side, discarded, and an elf and a couple of hares seemed to be acting out some sort of story, guided by Merrill’s delicate fingers tracing invisible patterns in the air as she spoke in a low, eager tone. Bethany watched attentively, letting out a dramatic gasp as the wooden elf transformed into one of those stag-like creatures the elves were so crazy about—a halla, Isabela remembered after some thought. 

“I’m shocked,” Isabela said, clasping her hand to her chest in mock scandal. “A known blood mage is shamelessly flaunting her powers before you, and you don’t have anything to say about it?” She nudged Fenris with her elbow, a smirk playing at her lips. 

The corners of his mouth twitched as he glanced back at her, but he stubbornly held onto his scowl. “Nothing that has not been said before, only to fall on deaf ears.” His moss-green eyes shifted back to Merrill and Bethany, and he let out a small dissatisfied sigh. “It has been years, and she seems no closer to becoming an abomination. I will grant her that much.”

It was quite the concession, coming from him. Isabela was actually impressed. She would have teased him further about it, but figured it was best not to question it; he might remember how he really felt about mages and start fisting people—and not in a fun way. 

“Ah, speaking of abominations,” Isabela said instead, idly stretching one foot out in front of her so she could examine her boot. “How _is_ Anders? I notice he couldn’t be bothered to show up.”

His scowl deepened. “More likely he wasn’t invited,” Fenris said sourly. “He has kept his distance these past years.”

Isabela raised an eyebrow at his tone. “I’d have expected you to be a bit happier about that.” 

“I doubt he’s been idle,” Fenris sneered. “Whatever he’s been doing, it can’t mean anything good, for anyone.” 

Well, this was cheery. Time for a change of subject. “So,” Isabela said slyly, nudging his hip with her knee, “story hour with Fenris. I’d never have pegged you as the ‘children’ type.” 

Fenris smirked. “The same could be said for you.”

“Fair enough,” Isabela said with a soft chuckle as she glanced toward Bethany. “I think it’s surprised me most of all.” 

It appeared Merrill had moved on to a different story now; the hares were joined by pairs of foxes, bears, and birds, and a vaguely elven figure was whispering to each group in turn. The foxes absurdly sprouted wings and flew up around Bethany’s head, and she squealed with delight as she tried to grab them out of the air.

“Who would have thought that something good could come from Tevinter magic?” Despite the bitter edge of his voice, something soft came over his face as he watched Bethany play—wonder, almost, and warm affection. 

Isabela felt something clench in her chest at the sight of it. Where Merrill’s bubbly enthusiasm and Varric and Aveline’s fierce protectiveness had fallen short, Fenris’s quiet awe succeeded in driving home just how much she’d missed. He had seen it all, she was sure, even the parts that would have had her running off toward the nearest ship out of town, and clearly it had changed him. He seemed grounded now in a way that, frankly, scared the piss out of her.

“Oh, I don’t know,” she said with a lecherous grin, trying to steer the discussion into less turbulent waters. “I always liked that magical fisting thing you did. _That_ came from Tevinter.” His scowl returned, deeper than before. Isabela sighed; she wasn’t winning any awards for conversation tonight. “And now I’ve said something wrong.” 

Fenris stiffened beside her, green eyes clouding over with something dark and conflicted. Finally he spoke, his voice clipped and tense. “Danarius is dead.”

Oh. Well, that was…something. “I’d have thought that would be an excuse to hightail it out of this miserable city, not a reason to stick around.” 

He looked up, shaking his head softly to clear it. “If it weren’t for Hawke, I would probably be dead, or a slave once more.” His gaze drifted to the woman in question, still deep in conversation with Aveline. “I owe her a debt that can never be repaid.”

“That’s Hawke for you,” Isabela said brightly, trying to ignore the uneasy feeling growing in her stomach. She didn’t even know what it was; maybe something she ate. “Always ready to lend a hand and sort out everyone else’s problems.”

“She is…an impressive woman.”

Oh, Maker’s sodding balls. It was jealousy, is what it was, and it was absurd. In the first place, Isabela didn’t get jealous. Second, even if Fenris did harbor some secret flame for Hawke, the woman was just plain uninterested in men. Third, if anything _had_ happened between them, she was in no position to actually _be_ jealous, since she had given up that right when she cut out of town years ago. Fourth—or fifth? She was starting to lose track, but that was besides the point—Hawke, unlike Isabela, was a good, honorable person. If she said she wanted to be with Isabela, then it was the truth, and no broody elf would get in the way of that, no matter how glorious his olive skin looked when the lyrium patterns glowed brightly against it, or how delicious his lips looked when he scowled so prettily, or—well, now she was just plain getting distracted.

The point was, Hawke was _hers_ and she bloody well knew it. The knowledge was reaffirmed when Hawke turned her head, catching her eye across the room, and her smile brightened enough to light the room without the benefit of a fireplace or lamps, even while her blue eyes flashed with hints of the mischief and hunger that had drawn Isabela in to begin with.

“She is happier than I have seen her in a long time,” Fenris remarked, turning his gaze back to Isabela. “A welcome sight. There was a time when I wondered if she would ever smile again.”

Groaning, Isabela tore her eyes from Hawke to turn them warily on Fenris. “Is this the part where you threaten to rip out my spine if I hurt either of them?”

A smirk tugged at the edges of his lips, but there was something deadly serious in his eyes. “I hardly thought it needed to be said.”

Isabela rolled her eyes. She was beginning to think she should have prepared a speech, to avoid having to tell each of Hawke’s friends—and, all right, maybe her friends too—that she had only the best of intentions when it came to both Hawkes. 

“Balls!” 

Bethany’s exuberant declaration saved Isabela from having to assure yet another person that she didn’t want to hurt anyone, but it also had the unfortunate side effect of turning all the attention in the room toward her. Hawke had that exasperated look she wore so well, and Aveline was glaring with a triumphant superiority. 

“Once!” Isabela insisted. “It was one time!” 

“Bethy, we've been over this,” Hawke said, walking over to scoop Bethany up off of the floor. “I don’t want you talking like that.”

Bethany wrinkled her brow, a pout forming on her little lips. “Bela does it!” 

An aggrieved sigh escaped Hawke’s lips as she gave Isabela that look again. Isabela’s eyes widened, and she held her hands up defensively. Hawke shook her head and chuckled, turning back to her daughter. “Bela does a lot of things I don’t want you doing, sweetheart.”

Aveline snorted. “You can say that again.” 

Isabela clicked her tongue, giving Aveline a look of mock-pity. “You really have to get that jealousy under control, Big Girl.” 

“All right,” Hawke said, shooting them both a warning glare. “I think it’s just about time for little girls to be tucked into bed.”

“I donwanna!” Bethany protested, dramatically crossing her arms over her chest.

Rolling her eyes, Isabela slid off of the desk and strode over to the pair of them. So far, the child still seemed eager to please her, and rarely complained when Isabela told her to do something; she was sure it would pass, but she may as well use it while she could. Predictably, Bethany held out her arms as she approached.

“Come on, sweetness,” Isabela said, taking Bethany’s weight before the girl could launch herself out of her mother’s arms. Hawke smiled gratefully at her. A loud snore drew their attention to the couch, where Donnic had passed out, his head lolling back against the upholstery. Isabela smirked. “Look, it’s even past Donnic’s bedtime.”

“Too much wine,” Aveline said, shaking her head fondly. She shoved at Donnic’s shoulder.

“Wha—?” Donnic said groggily, blinking awake and rubbing at his eyes. 

Aveline sighed. “Time to get you home.” 

“Allow me to assist,” Fenris offered, gliding over to help Aveline drag Donnic to his feet. At Isabela’s raised eyebrow, he shrugged. “It’s on my way.”

Varric chuckled, pushing himself off of the couch and slinging Bianca over his shoulder. “Come on, Daisy, I’ll walk you home.” 

“Oh, all right,” Merrill said, reluctantly standing. It was a safe bet that she had been enjoying playing with Bethany as much as—if not more than—the toddler herself. She reached out to stroke Bethany’s hair before turning her gaze to Isabela. “You’ll have to come see me soon,” she said eagerly. “You can tell me about all the adventures I’m sure you had while you were gone.” 

Isabela smiled. “It’s a date, Kitten.” 

Hawke followed her guests out to the foyer, with Isabela trailing behind with Bethany. As Hawke said her goodnights, Isabela stared past them, lost in thought. The night hadn’t been a terrible experience, after all, but this whole thing still felt awkward, like a pair of pants that didn’t fit right. Or pants at all, really.

Across the courtyard, a flash of movement caught Isabela’s eye. She thought she saw the sweep of of familiar robes, feathers fluttering in the breeze, but it was gone too quickly to tell.

“What is it?” Hawke asked, her palm resting at the small of Isabela’s back as she peered over her shoulder.

Isabela shrugged; the streets of Kirkwall were never truly empty. “Nothing,” she said, shaking her head and turning to grin at Hawke. “We should get upstairs,” she said, lifting an eyebrow suggestively.

Hawke flushed, but managed a stern look as she pushed the front door shut. “To put Bethany to bed, of course.” 

“Of course,” Isabela said innocently. She turned to address the child, who was starting to sag against her shoulder. “You can even pick the story.”

Bethany grinned sleepily, her arms tightening around Isabela’s neck as they headed for the stairs.

***

“Wow,” Hawke panted, chest heaving as she struggled to catch her breath. “I think I need to start keeping stamina draughts in the bedside table again.”

Isabela licked her lips and grinned, crawling back up to stretch out at Hawke’s side. She was feeling even more smug than usual, as Hawke had been utterly unsuccessful at holding a grudge about her antics with Aveline. Between that and the spectacular—if rushed—sex she’d managed to talk Hawke into earlier in the dining room, the evening had pretty much been a success. 

“You’re just out of practice,” Isabela said, trailing her fingertips over Hawke’s stomach. “Give me a few more weeks and I’ll have you whipped back into shape. With real whips, if you like.”

“Mmm.” Hawke smiled up at Isabela with that soft affectionate look in her eyes and Isabela felt her pulse pound a little faster, a little harder. Then Hawke shivered. “S’cold,” she mumbled, reaching half-heartedly for the blankets that had been kicked to the foot of the bed before flopping back down, defeated.

Taking pity on her, Isabela leaned down to pull them up over Hawke’s shoulders. “There, better now?” 

“A bit,” Hawke said with a sleepy smile. She slid a lazy hand over Isabela’s bare hip. “I’d be warmer if you were under here with me.”

It was such an innocent request, but Isabela knew what Hawke was really asking, and she felt her heart speed up further. Hawke hadn’t yet commented on the fact that Isabela was always gone in the morning, but Isabela had known it was coming eventually. 

Isabela didn’t _sleep_ with people. She would do just about anything else involving another person—or two or three—and a bed, but sleeping required a level of trust that she hadn’t allowed herself since she’d found her freedom. Before that, well, she hadn’t really cared what happened to her; if her husband had decided to kill her in her sleep, it could hardly have been worse than living with him. She could trust Hawke, though; she knew it, even if it was hard to believe at times. 

Hawke’s hand stilled, and an apologetic look came over her face. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to push—”

“Oh, roll over, will you?” Isabela rolled her eyes, shoving at Hawke’s hip. Her heart pounded in her throat as she slipped under the blanket, pressing herself up against Hawke’s back. 

This wasn’t so bad; cuddling wasn’t as good as sex, but there was still something delicious about the press of bare, sweat-slick skin, and the way Hawke’s body seemed to fit perfectly against her. She slung her arm over Hawke’s waist, for lack of a better place to put it, and Hawke latched onto it, pulling it more tightly around her. Isabela could feel Hawke’s satisfied hum vibrating against her chest, and something in her relaxed, just a little bit.

No, this wasn’t so bad at all.

  
_end._   



End file.
